She Rested Her Head Against

He Was Already Looking At Their Relationship Through The Lens Of The Past Tense. It Puzzled Her, The Ability Of Romantic Love To Mutate, How Quickly A Loved One Could Become A Stranger. Where Did The Love Go? Perhaps Real Love Was Familial, Somehow, Linked To Blood, Since Love For Children Did Not Die As Romantic Love Did.

I Have Many Problems In My Life, But I Don't Think That Identity Is One Of Them.

Honesty. And I Just Really Think There's A Fundamental Friendship That Needs To Exist, Whether It's A Lover, Whether It's A Sister...there's Just This Connection Both People Need To Be Effortlessly Themselves.

Americans Think African Writers Will Write About The Exotic, About Wildlife, Poverty, Maybe Aids. They Come To Africa And African Books With Certain Expectations.

I Can Write With Authority Only About What I Know Well, Which Means That I End Up Using Surface Details Of My Own Life In My Fiction.